Post by leofric on May 5, 2010 12:50:21 GMT -5
Leofric Wolfe
Skilled - Brave - Honourable
Skilled - Brave - Honourable
BACK TO BASICS ' '
Full Name: Leofric Garm Wolfe
Significance of Name: Leofric is Anglo-Saxon for dear power, relating to Tyr's unique courage in giving his hand to the Wolf, Fenrir. Courage was seen as a very important trait to possess.
Wolfe obviously links to Fenrir, but also to his destined fate to die at the hands of 'Garm', ironically his middle name.
Nickname(s): 'Garm' 'Wolfy'
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Orientation: Heterosexual
Grade: Junior
Celeb you're using: Jamie Bell
Deity: Tyr - Norse
Title of your deity: God of Victory, Glory, Single-Combat and Justice.
STRIKE A POSE ' '
Physical Appearance: For the most part, Leofric, or 'Garm' due to him despising the term 'Lee', is not terribly out of the ordinary. Measuring at around six feet one inch and weighing in at a ground-slamming seventy-five kilograms, his stature is incredibly average, and he doesn't set a grand or intimidating figure; indeed, the fact he's grinning most of the time silently implies a joker. Though, if one observes, though he is remarkably thin in places, there is not an ounce of visible fat on him. His thin arms and shoulders hide a surprising, but not altogether very large strength. He is roughly as strong as the average adult man, but it's in the way he uses that strength that tends to make people look at him differently.
His skin is smooth and decent looked after, but only if you remove the acquired scars. The only marks truly noticeable are a deep gouge along his hair line and a indent in his left pectoral. Oh, and his left hand is completely missing. He never bothers wearing a prosthetic, instead keeping it as a reminder of what happens when people walk away from loved ones. Other then this, the combination of a happy face and sandy hair make him not exactly adonis-like, but handsome nonetheless. In truth, his eyes are simple and calm, with a grey pigmentation.
Most of the time, he lets his beard grow through abit, just to give him that rough and ready look. Just as often, he has some bruise or cut from a scuffle, which he wears with immense pride. Infact, he has a deliberate tendency to get into fights mere hours before a black tie event just so he can make a few bad jokes along the lines of 'black eye, black tie'.
Clothes are not a big must for Garm, but he does make sure he doesn't look like a twonk, as any teenager does. Usually he simply throws a grey or dark blue t-shirt on, couples it with scruffy jeans and ripped trainers, and that's all he needs.
.
LET'S GET TO KNOW YOU BETTER ' '
Personality Description: Leofric has been through his teenage-life-crisis, and is pretty goddamn proud of it. He is smiley, talkative and generally abit of a laugh. He at first comes across as abit of a mouthy git, expressing some quite strong opinions about any little object that grabs his attention at the moment. But he has a fierce code of honour that he would gladly die then break. You won't hear him bad mouth someone he considers a friend, and anything he says about an enemy has been repeated twice as loudly to their face. Indeed, he frowns upon others 'bitching behind people's backs', but doesn't actively discourage it, not really looking for a meaningless falling out.
He's not especially witty, his observations being mostly un-informed and uniformly sided along the lines of 'He has no goddamn sense of decency!'. In truth, he wishes everyone could follow his code, but knows that he has no right to make them. In this, he is agreeable. He respects people's opinions, and never persecutes someone for thinking differently to him. Never will you see him throw a lame insult during a serious debate. Joking at the back of the class? Well, that's an entirely different story.
Going into detail of Leofric's code of honour is simple: He has a set of basic principles, ranging from Never Hit a Friend or Loved One to always pet a black dog that crosses your path. Mostly, they are the things we'd always -like- to follow. Leofric simply does, never abandoning a friend unless it impeaches his code. He willingly throws himself into helping people who are being attacked, and will never let a bully get away with a snide comment to someone weaker then them. But, deep at the core of his philosophy, is a simple creed: Never fight for yourself, always fight for others. Though he often just can't help himself, Garmy is getting better at simply walking away from those who offend him.
Alongside this, Leofric is stupidly courageous, fearing no person. He is, however, terrified of women with beards, fish, large birds and the dark.
Likes:
-English pastries
-Large meals
-Reptiles
-Apple Pie
-War Films
-England
-Mice
-Medieval Weapons
-Dark haired Girls
-Red haired Girls
-Girls who could kick his backside.
-Fights (Though he'd never admit it)
Dislikes:
-Fish, any kind, especially sharks.
-Any bird bigger then a Falcon
-The Dark
-Women with beards (Severe phobia)
-Fast food
-That sound you hear when you rub a leather chair
-Science
-Maths
-Blonde-haired Girls
-Seeing someone strong attacking someone weak (Berserk Button)
-Treachery
Strength:
-Very quickwitted
-Very, very good at fighting.
-Has a tendency to not know when he's lost.
-Wise.
-Fears no man.
Weaknesses:
-His fears are really quite strong.
-Not very booksmart
-Self-sacrificing to the point of idiocy.
-Gives very little indication when someone has crossed the line
-Can be quite judgemental
-Will gladly pursue his honour code beyond rationality.
Fears: Women with beards, Large birds, Fish and the Dark.
Goal: He has no set goal, but aspires to being a Police Officer.
Power/Ability: Supernatural Agility - Tyr was renowned as one of the greatest Warriors in Asgard, and being able to move and turn is very, very important in a fight.
Supernatural Strength - Tyr was known as the second strongest Asgardian, only falling behind Thor in Strength. Because of this, Leofric can lift up to 75 times his own bodyweight, and has been known to break people's skulls with a fierce headbutt.
Intuitive Aptitude - Tyr was the father figure to the Peasants, who would often suffer greatly after a battle, and be forced to take up arms suddenly when Raiders came. His instant ability to handle any weapon is reminiscent of their desperate fighting fervor. Because of this, Leofric is a weaponsmaster - any weapon he touches, he instantly becomes proficient in it's usage.
WELCOME TO MY LIFE ' '
Origin: North End, London, England
History: Few can lay claim to a life such as Leo's. He was actually born to quite an influential family. Old nobility, that sort of thing, supposedly descending from the Earl of Northumbria. His mother was caring, but his father was a gambler. A very, very bad one. While Leofric excelled at the most prestigious boarding schools, being a popular and agreeable young boy, his father gingerly gambled away the family savings, primarily on horses, cards and dice, over the period of seven years. It was one summer, with a happy young Leofric coming home from school for a few weeks, that the excrement hit the proverbial fan. A home invasion culminated in Leofric actively choosing to lose his own hand instead of his father losing his life. Further information is not known, as psychiatrists have found that Garm has completely closed his mind off to that tumultuous event.
Cecilia Wolfe left her husband the moment Leofric's stump was stitched up and his feet able to move, with Rowland Wolfe having agreed to pay his debtors as soon as he could. Cecilia and Leofric would read of his obituary only a few weeks later, while staying at Cecilia's father's, John Marshal. If a more imposing Patriarch could be found, he had not been found and knocked down to size by this giant, mutton-chop sporting English aristocrat, who proudly wore an eyepatch from losing an eye in The Falklands War. At sixty-nine, he was at a prime age to mentor the young Leofric, and this he did with gusto, from a pleasant Devonish Estate. It was at the feet of this man that he was taught The Code of The Marshals. A long list of just under a hundred do's and don't's, it help enormous meaning to John Marshal, and he passed his dedication onto his grandson.
Eton was a problem for Leofric, however. For this honour code was imposed upon him...'practically'. Anyone who didn't adhere to it after being told to found themselves getting attacked from a dozen different directions at once, and getting slammed onto their back in a few seconds. Indeed, it was only his first real, truly aggressive fight against a boy two years his senior when his supernatural agility actually came to the fore. Mix this with more then three dedicated martial arts classes (Shotokan Karate, Boxing and Ju-jitsu) and it makes for a lot of very pissed off parents and a hesitant Headmaster kindly looking up at the six-foot three inch John Marshal and asking him to tone down his grandson's violent tendencies. Reluctantly, Leofric was taken aside by the man who he considered his idol and taught the most key ideal of his life: tolerance. That one should not judge other people because they do not share the code.
This was three years ago. Leofric has had problems with adapting to this idea over this time, resulting in his expulsion from Eton, just as he was beginning to grasp the true meaning of what his Grandfather had taught him. Fortunately, the day he came home from expulsion, a letter was upon his desk, inviting him to the Pantheon Academy...
-SIMILARITIES TO TYR-
Bears an English name, which is Anglo-Saxon. Saxons were part of the Germanic tribes who made up Tyr's worship.
Willingly gave his hand for the benefit of others.
Was raised by an old, powerful warrior.
Places honour above all else.
CONNECTION TO THE MYTH ' '
-Has one hand
-Is very good at fighting, particularly one on one.
-Holds a strict code of honour, while Tyr was God of Justice. So, essentially, he's not a hypocrite.
-Is self-sacrificing, just as Tyr was.
-His supernatural agility is an allusion to Tyr's status as one of Asgard's greatest warriors, aswell as Leofric's love for martial arts.
-Leofric's tendency to respond violently to people who break his code is an allusion to vapnadomr ("judgement by arms: war").
-Tyr was supposed to be very, very wise. Leofric is beginning to inherit his Grandfather's tact and judgement.
-And lastly his name, Wolfe aka. Fenrir
-
ROLEPLAYING SAMPLE ' '
Tierrah forgive me for what I am about to do.
Yeah, I didn't think so.
Erik touched a bit of earth blood to his already smothered forehead. As a rule, he always covered his scent, and those of his men; just in case. Just in case. You never knew what tricks Raiders had up their arse. These particular gits had been plaguing a few villages for about 5 months now. Erik had been given the go-ahead to lead 100 picked men to stop them. So, he had covered his face in deer blood, and his leather in wolf fur. His Vedus trudged beside him, poised like a deathly fierce beast. Like the swords of the fallen, as Erik's father had said.
“It'll be alright, Erik.” It attempted to reassure him.
“No. It won't.”
It wasn't a hard thing to pull the eagle-feather covering from his axe, Lordsbite, and to unsheathe his old hunting knife; their grips were far too familiar. Lordsbite was about two feet long with a hooked metal axehead; Malbournian steel. The drops of crimson still edged along it's metal like a set of runes of remembrance. The knife was battered, misused and brutalised; but still reliable. Still good for killing. Behind him, crouching behind the ridge just like all his other chosen men, a Serjeant tapped him on his shoulder. Erik turned, lifting a dirt-stained eyebrow.
The Serjeant tapped his left shoulder and pointed over the ridge. Erik nodded.
He had 25 Archers in the foothills just above the path; the rest of his men were down here, axes ready. Men ready. As the tramp of unordered feet began, like the tremble of pebbles before a landslide, Erik hit the dirt, axe and knife ready. He wore a cloak of thickened wool cloth, tipped with dirt and batches of fur. Now, he pulled the hood over his head, even as he peeked over the ridge.
These were dirty beings; unshaven and brutal, they far more resembled farmers then warriors. The only thing that identified them as brigands were their weapons.
It took a few seconds for Erik to be satisfied they were in the trap.
So he sprung it.
Tierrah forgive me for what I am about to do. Give my enemies mercy.
For I shall not.
Leaping to his feet like a berserker of legend, Erik cupped hands to mouth and let out an ear-piercing howl from the depths of his lungs. Instantly, arrows began striking into the raider's column. A few seconds later, the 75 men behind the ridge marched into view.
He didn't give them a chance to reel back. Erik took axe and knife and charged, his teeth brought back in a snarl. His men, followed, loyally. Well, screaming and up to their eyes in the battle-fury.
Erik was, as always, the first to hit. He dodged a badly aimed spearthrust and battered the man in the neck with the hilt of his knife, before digging his axe into the back of his neck. A flicker to his right, nothing but a momentary flicker, and instinct made him kick out, hard, at a man's right knee. The knife in the boot sprang out, causing the foe to cry out. A headbutt and a knife thrust ended the business.
Another two were coming, swords in hand. Without even a second's fear, Erik knew his axe overhanded into the undefended skull of the one on his right, as he charged for the second. The sword blow was unprepared for the last-second leaping tackle.
As he always did, Erik found himself in a grappling match. He was ontop of his enemy; he jutted his teeth forward and found the bastard's nose. His left held the foe's sword hand, and his right continued to batter him in the ribs.
The soft squelch of blood, and the man was screaming. Let go of his sword. Gave Erik a chance to pull another knife from his belt. Up, into the heart, out. Get to your feet, fast. More to kill.
Always more.
BEHIND THE SCENE ' '
Your name: Erik
Age: 20
How long have you been RPing? On boards, I've been sharpening my writing skills for about nine years.
Where/How did you find us? A proud advertisent on Domnhall.
